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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29039178">Ties That Bind Us</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobloodneeded/pseuds/nobloodneeded'>nobloodneeded</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Slow Burn, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:15:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,993</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29039178</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobloodneeded/pseuds/nobloodneeded</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Champion may be good at a great many things, but juggling is not one of them. When his heart is pulled in two different directions, can Hawke reconcile his feelings for the two men he has fallen for - or will the strings of his heart snap under their diametrically defiant pressure?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age), Anders/Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age), Anders/Male Hawke, Fenris/Male Hawke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Routine patrol gone awry, a rowdy evening at the Hanged Man, and a surprise slumber party.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“Hawke. Remind me why I am here,” Fenris spoke in an unenthused drawl from behind the man he questioned. “I have a strong distaste for beaches. The Wounded Coast, especially.”</p><p>It was true, the Wounded Coast was no tropical paradise. Storms ravaged the seas constantly, shipwrecks dotting the horizon. Debris littered the shoreline, poking up through the sand jaggedly every few steps. The natural flora was bleak and the fauna hostile. To make matter worse, the land smelled sharply of sea brine and the putrefaction of rotting corpses that would occasionally float by. A more charming place could not be found.</p><p>“How could I go adventuring without my strong warrior companion?” came the jubilant and sincere reply.</p><p>Said warrior kicked sand underfoot, wriggling his toes distastefully as the gritty texture dug into his bare feet. If the sand hitting the mage beside him - who squawked indignantly - humored him, he made no show of it. Certainly not a wry twist of lips.</p><p>Anders huffed, striding ahead more quickly and away from the elf who antagonized him. He fell into step beside their leader who paid that interaction no mind. Hawke was far too used to their squabbles to even notice them anymore. Unless things came to blows, he wasn’t going to give it his time. Let the boys sort themselves out.</p><p>A pout remained on Anders’ lips; his shoulders slumped grumpily. It made him the same height as Hawke who stole his focus with a large grin. Anders righted his slouch and returned the smile with a softer one of his own.</p><p>“Might I ask why I’m here? You’re a mage yourself, you’ve no <em>need</em> for another one.”</p><p>If there was hope and longing in that gaze, it went over Hawke’s exuberant head as he all but bounced down the trail they walked.</p><p>“Yes, one mage <em>is</em> bad enough,” Fenris joked dryly.</p><p>Anders shot him a dirty look, but the elf found his nails far more enticing in that moment.</p><p>“And go without my favorite healer? You’re mad!”</p><p>Hawke threw a brawny arm around his companion’s slender shoulders and gave him a friendly jostle. A gentle heat flushed Anders’ face. Hawke could be dense at times, but even he caught the blush and knew it was no sunburn as dusk steadily approached. He may have let his arm rest there for a beat longer than was customary of friends.</p><p>Hawke enjoyed the feeling of Anders’ lithe body tucked beside his burlier one. Though he was concerned the healer got skinnier by the year, it made it that much easier to hoist him up. Anders would always give a charming laugh when he would and Hawke found that increasingly more irresistible. He refrained from that now and withdrew his arm. His side felt colder.</p><p>“Not to play up a Dwarf stereotype, but what am I, chopped nug-liver over here?” Varric’s gravelly baritone took on a betrayed affectation.</p><p>“You’re the best shot I know – and a better friend - who could ask for a more well-rounded group?”</p><p>Varric hummed appreciatively and moved on. “Nice as this stroll is,” he said in a way that indicated it was, in fact, <em>not</em> nice. “Why exactly are we out here in this wasteland?”</p><p>“Aveline claims she’s short-staffed and asked if I could patrol the areas surrounding Kirkwall while her guards tend to matters within the city proper.” Hawke shrugged noncommittally. “What, you don’t like the scenery?” He tapped a broken barrel to his right with the end of his staff, a few pieces falling in on itself. A small crab pinched its claws warningly then scuttled away from the disturbed wreckage into an adjacent bush.</p><p>“Can’t say I’m a fan, no,” Varric muttered, nonplussed. He kicked an errant glob of seaweed away from the path. Parts of the sticky green gloop stuck to his shoe and he nearly tore his leg off shaking the slimy vegetation off him. “I’m more of a ‘bar, beer, and booze’ than a ‘surf, sun, and sand’ kind of Dwarf.”</p><p>“You mentioned alcohol twice,” Anders pointed out.</p><p>“And I thought you said you did not want to play up a Dwarven stereotype,” Fenris added.</p><p>“Listen, I don’t even listen to my critics. What makes you chuckleheads think I’m putting up with you?”</p><p>The two relented after their sniggers subsided and an otherwise comfortable silence fell over the party. Sand and debris crunched beneath their feet as they marched, keeping their eyes peeled for any signs of disruption. The howl of wild dogs made them stop abruptly, but it was a distant enough warning they weren’t overly concerned. No alarming rustles from the brush and aside from the Wounded Coast’s usual acrid scent there seemed to be no suspicious activity.</p><p>Occasionally, Varric broke the silence with expositions to remember for later as they passed particular landmarks.</p><p>“The vibrant tre – the <em>verdant</em> trees reached their evergreen limbs up to a darkening sky. Yeah, that’s pretty good. The sun dipped below the midnight waters and kissed calm waves goodnight. Against the encroaching twilight, Stoic and Skinny brooded against their mounting sexual tension –”</p><p>“I am not broody –”</p><p>“There is <em>no</em> sexual tension, mounting or otherwi—”</p><p>“Interesting you think that was about the two of you. You know those aren’t my nicknames for you. I was simply struck by sudden inspiration for a new book,” Varric feigned innocence.</p><p>Fenris and Anders shot the dwarf venomous and sour looks, respectively.</p><p>He continued, unperturbed, “But Suave the Dwarf knew better than to stoke their ire lest Stinky scold him with a reprimand.”</p><p>“I’m not that stinky right now, am I?” Hawke pouted and took a whiff near his shoulder. He winced. “Apologies to all. Trudging in the sun for the better part of the day does not make one smell fresh.”</p><p>“I quite like your smell,” Anders admitted chipperly before realizing what had come out of his mouth. He sucked his lips into his mouth as his eyes popped wide. Before Hawke could comment, his brow raised bemusedly, Anders interjected, “Living near the refuse of Darktown, anything would smell better than that, is all.”</p><p>Varric chortled behind him and even Fenris softly scoffed. Hawke himself laughed in that good-natured way of his, poking the healer’s ribs with his elbow lightly.</p><p>“You’re saying I smell better than Kirkwall’s sewers?” he intoned mirthfully. “Anders, you flirt, flattery like that will get you everywhere.”</p><p>Anders wished in that moment that the ground would open and swallow him whole, like the great yawning maw of a beast.</p><p>And so it did.</p><p>As Anders stepped back to put some distance between himself and Hawke, loose sand at the edge of the path fell beneath the weight of his foot. Gravity seized him as more of the sandbank broke loose. With a small yelp, he wheeled backwards over the slope.</p><p>Luckily, Hawke’s reflexes were sharp and he snapped to attention, even as his heart plummeted to his stomach, launching himself after Anders. He threw himself to the ground just before the receded patch. The thrust knocked the wind out of him, but he paid the tightness in his chest no mind. Stretching his arms out just in time, relief washed over him as Anders’ hands wrapped around his forearms. Hawke’s fingers wound around Anders’ slim arms securely and hoisted him up carefully.</p><p>Their arms still locked, the two stepped away from the precarious edge. Hawke dusted himself and then his shell-shocked counterpart off.  Twigs, leaves, and sand stuck out of Anders like a poorly stuffed mattress.</p><p>“Maker’s breath,” he wheezed dazedly, amber eyes still wide and unseeing. “That was…close.”</p><p>“Hm. Should have let him fall,” Fenris quipped.</p><p>Varric nudged him for his callously dark humor. The elf shrugged unapologetically, but the rigid set of his shoulders relaxed to see the healer unharmed.  </p><p>“Y’alright, Blondie?”</p><p>Anders blinked the world into focus three times, each sharpening the details around him.</p><p>“I’m fine,” he answered quickly and took a moment to assess if that was really true.</p><p>There was some minor scuffing of his pants, robes, and hands, but no broken skin or injuries that needed healing. A new rip had burst through an already patched seam on his sleeve, however.</p><p>He was slowly becoming an expert at darning all the new tears he had to mend since joining Hawke’s company.</p><p>Anders snuck a glance behind him and shuddered slightly. It could have been his imagination, but that drop looked more terrifying from the safety of where he stood. He resumed ticking off body parts and clothing he was inspecting for damages when he noticed an unfamiliar heat at his waist.</p><p>Hawke was all but preening his companion’s clothing, plucking and smoothing his hands over the feathered pauldrons and sides of his robes until satisfied. His hand unconsciously lingered at the notch of Anders hip pouch. Hawke watched as Anders’ eyes drew down to where his hand rested, coming back up to meet his with a peculiar mix of emotions. Hawke waved that hand in front of his healer’s face, his wagging finger nearly made Anders cross-eyed staring at it.</p><p>“You,” Hawke admonished. “Don’t do that again.”</p><p>Anders could only nod, uncharacteristically meek in the face of what happened. It was an embarrassing blunder that could have ended more dangerously if Hawke hadn’t rushed to his rescue – all over a stupid comment.</p><p>“Hey, I got a question,” Varric remarked. “What do you think would happen if you did fall? D’ya think Justice would save you somehow with, I don’t know, spirit magic?”</p><p>Anders lips quirked to the side as he pondered. “I…don’t really know, to be honest.”</p><p>“We could always push you and find out,” Fenris vocalized irreverently.</p><p>“I’ve heard elves land on their feet from great heights, maybe I should take you down with me and see for myself.”</p><p>“Be my guest. I have shorn off limbs for less.”</p><p>“As if I would even <em>want</em> to touch someone as vile –"</p><p>“Gentlemen, please,” Hawke patted the air with his hands, a parody of a smile on his lips. “You’re both very pretty, but I think it’s time we head back home, don’t you?”</p><p>The elf and mage scowled, muttering vague agreements.</p><p>With no imminent danger, there wasn’t any need to continue patrolling. The party retraced their familiar footsteps back they way they had come as nightfall rapidly descended. An indigo blanket drew across the wide sky as the last of the sunlight yawned beneath the inky horizon. With it, a chill pressed down upon them, starting from the tips of their ears through their stomach to their toes. The Coast was known to warm and cool with a surprising quickness and tonight was no exception.</p><p>Varric and Anders wrapped their coats around themselves more tightly and Hawke brought a small flame to his open palm for extra light and a source of heat. Out the corner of his eye, he noticed minor tremors radiating off one of his companions. Despite his every intention to handle the cold without alerting the rest, Fenris’ body betrayed him. His posture was more rigid, his cheeks and the tips of his ears flushed, and his shoulders trembled lightly. His breathing exercises were not enough to warm his core, but he marched on until a foreign weight settled upon his shoulders.</p><p>Fenris’ nose crinkled in confusion as he eyed the mantle draped along his body. The cloak swallowed his more petite frame, its owner a bit wider and a good head taller than him. His gaze met Hawke’s who stood in a sleeveless tunic, his bare arms and chest exposed, naked flame still dancing in his hand. It cast shadows across his corded muscles and magnanimous grin.</p><p>Fenris shook his head and began sliding his arm out from under the robe. “Hawke, I will be alright without –”</p><p>“And you’ll be even better with!” Hawke rescinded his offered clothing. “I can manage the cold.”</p><p>“Yes,” Fenris replied uneasily. Kindness for its own sake was still an act he was learning others could possess. He eyed the coarse hair that coated his companion’s body and acquiesced, tugging the cloak back onto his shoulders. “I suppose you do have enough…<em>fur…</em>to keep you warm.”</p><p>Hawke barked out a genuine laugh. “I meant that I’m a Fereldan and accustomed to it, but,” Hawke admired his hairy forearms. “I suppose you’re right about that.”</p><p>Fenris turned his face away and tucked his begrudging simper into the fur collar. His nose lingered in the soft texture and took a curious whiff. He was reticent to admit it, but Anders had been right: Hawke had a likable scent. There were hints of earthy pine mingled with the sharp sting of ozone from previous lightning spells and an aroma that was entirely unique to him. Fenris took a last sniff that was easily mistaken for the effects of the current chill and plodded on.</p><p>Hawke smiled proudly behind his companion who trudged along tucked within his clothing. He would never admit this out loud for fear of the man's retribution, but he thought Fenris looked quite cute in his gear. Hawke wagered he would look better out of it entirely. His smile was replaced with a goofy grin as pleasantly perverse thoughts flitted through his subconscious. </p><p>“You look like a proper mage,” Anders teased antagonistically. “Careful the <em>magic</em> doesn’t rub off on you lest you become one of us.” Anders waggled the fingers on both of his hands towards the elf’s face, his mouth pursed in a small O as he tauntingly moaned a long “Oooooo!”</p><p>Fenris pulled an unamused face in the mage’s direction, but his distraction cost him. He spat a curse under his breath as he suddenly tipped forward. His toe had caught some sort of metallic snag in the ground. Inspecting his foot, he found it weeping and staining the sand crimson.</p><p>“Ouch,” Hawke sympathetically pursed his lips, pulled from his reverie.</p><p>“Shoes, Broody, shoes would solve this problem,” Varric scolded paternally, jabbing the ground with the toe of his boot to prove his point.</p><p>Hawke rummaged around for a small roll of bandages, but Anders waved his hand discouragingly and dropped to a knee before the injured party. Hawke replaced the bandages securely in his pack again. Fenris glared down at the mage warily as he reached for his foot.</p><p>Involuntarily, the elf jerked the appendage away from reach and Anders rolled his eyes up at him.</p><p>“There’s no need to waste supplies. It will take me no time to heal your foot.” Anders curled four fingers to his palm twice impatiently.  “Please.”</p><p>Fenris scoffed, but relented, placing his foot upon Anders’ knee. “Hm. For all I know you are liable to lop it off entirely.”</p><p>“Only if you move,” Anders replied sing-songily.</p><p>He separated the damaged toe from the others, his touch light and cautious. In response, Fenris’ toes curled and twitched as a suspicious breath escaped him. The party blinked twice and all eyes turned to the sulking elf whose scrunched gaze was preoccupied with the darkening horizon.</p><p>“Are you…ticklish, Fenris?” Anders asked, a hint of incredulity in his voice.</p><p>Fenris groused a curt and dishonest, “No,” but the elf’s glower was answer enough.</p><p>“I think,” Anders began, playful fingers fidgeting with the toes in his firm grasp. “I can wiggle the truth out of you.”</p><p>Fenris tried to hop away, but his foot was fastened securely in the healer’s grip and he could not get very far.</p><p>“I will wiggle the truth upside your head if you continue this, mage.”</p><p>It was exceedingly difficult to keep the biting heat in his words as his breath hitched with every manipulation of his toes.</p><p>“Are we going to pillow fight next or can we get on with this, Blondie. We’re burning up what little light we have here.”</p><p>“Done already!” said blonde chirruped, pushing the healed foot off his knee with the side of his hand as one would a bug off a table.</p><p>This did not go unnoticed by Fenris who wiped his foot off as if contaminated in retaliation.</p><p>“Excellent,” Hawke clapped his hands enthusiastically. “If we hurry, we can still make it to the Hanged Man tonight. Drinks on Varric!” He stooped a head lower and wrapped his arm around the dwarf’s shoulder cheerily.</p><p>“Nice try, <em>Champion</em>, but I’m pretty sure you make more than I do now,” Varric posited slyly. Hawke pouted his lower lip, eyes shining and level with his friend’s. Varric chuckled and shook his head bemusedly. “That may work on those two, but the strings of my coin purse are drawn tighter than Choirboy’s belt.”</p><p>Hawke glanced back hopefully at his two other companions. Anders turned his pockets out and shrugged with a faint smile as nothing but lint fell out. Fenris crossed his arms and turned his head side to side. The Champion sighed and frowned at his suddenly frugal friend.</p><p>“Fine,” he bemoaned. “We’ll make a stop by the Viscount’s Keep for payment and then go to the Hanged Man on my coin, I <em>suppose</em>.”</p><p>“Glad to hear it!” Varric cheered, unapologetically.</p><p>“I take back what I said earlier. Isabela is my new best friend,” Hawke whined.</p><p>“You wound me, Hawke.” The dwarf clutched a hand to his chest and threw his head back. “I’ll have to drown my sorrows in drink tonight…paid for with your coin, of course.”</p><p>Their eyes met, mirth dancing within them. Snickers bubbled in their bellies before they broke out in laughs that shook their stomachs.</p><p>“And now we are the ones waiting on them,” Fenris realized.</p><p>“I say we leave them here,” Anders mentioned casually. “We know the way to Aveline’s office. Two-way split is better than four.”</p><p>“For once, I agree with you.”</p>
<hr/><p>Hawke banged his mug against the table, the drink sloshing over and spilling onto his hand.  The disquieting noise did nothing to hamper the rest of their party as they engaged in conversations amongst themselves. Hawke was always rambunctious, even more so when he imbibed. The flush in his cheeks suggested he had. It was just extra noise drowned by the clamor of the other Hanged Man’s patrons.</p><p>“I can’t believe this! You too, Isabela?” he raised his voice in bewilderment. “Where is the love!”</p><p>The pirate smirked. “I’m sorry, Hawke, but you won’t get a copper out of me. It’s been ages since I’ve had a good plunder and my coin is much tighter than yours these days. You’re lucky I don’t call in your debt from the last three games on top of drinks.”</p><p>“And you thought the Rivaini would bail you out. It’s laughable, Hawke,” Varric said with a toss of his head. “Does this mean I’ve reclaimed my rightful spot again?”</p><p>Hawke grumbled his acceptance, clinked mugs with the dwarf, then stood.</p><p>“Really, I should have known better,” he began with haughty airs, circling the table and petting his hand across the backs of each friend. “I distinctly remember you all <em>abandoning </em>me in the Fade. Why should now be any different?”</p><p>Two rogues and a warrior rolled their eyes. Merrill grabbed the hand that crossed her shoulder and tugged it down her front into a tight, apologetic, hug. Hawke schooled his expression as the action warmed his heart, but wanted to continue his accusatory charade. He let his hand slide across her cheek by way of acceptance and carried on.</p><p>“The <em>only</em> companion of mine who did not betray me…” he intonated with a dramatic pause for show.</p><p>Two hands settled atop worn feather pauldrons and gave a friendly squeeze. The man who belonged to that equipment side-eyed the hands holding him. Hawke brought his face down until it was level with Anders’ ears. The mage sat stiff and motionless, unsure of where this was going but secretly enjoying the attention.</p><p>“…was <em>Justice</em>,” Hawke finished boisterously. “Pass this onto him for me, Anders!”</p><p>The mage winced at the loud noise in his ear and then reeled back as two lips planted a wet kiss on his cheek.</p><p>“Hawke, honestly, you’re like a mabari,” Anders complained, mopping the slobber with his sleeve. His lips betrayed his tone as they pulled into a bright smile.</p><p>He bowed with a flourish. “I have never received a higher compliment.”</p><p>“Smells like one, too,” Varric muttered into a cough.</p><p>“Not again. If I have to go home and bathe who will buy another round for you ingrates?”</p><p>The dwarf pursed his lips in agreement and acquiesced.</p><p>Hawke propelled himself off his friend and towards the bar, inadvertently squishing the mage in his seat. He stumbled away and clumsily reached for the coin-purse in his robes. Did robes normally have so many flaps or was he drunker than he realized? Perhaps this would be his last round for the evening.</p><p>Anders adjusted his collar and glanced around the table. Isabela’s nose was all but buried in Fenris’ ears, undoubtedly whispering all manner of perversions and promises. The elf smirked cockily, but seemed otherwise unaffected, as her hand traced circles on his arm. Varric listened with a look akin to paternal pride as Merrill droned cheerily on about something or other, her legs kicking lightly under the table. An empty chair pressed neatly against the table was the only evidence Aveline had joined them that night.</p><p>Anders scooted out of his seat and made his way to the bar. Corff had his hands full with five other patrons who grabbed his attention more insistently than Hawke. The Champion rested his forehead against his folded arms atop the counter. Anders reached out, hesitated, then placed his hand gently on the small of his back. An unruly head of hair popped up instantly. Hawke smacked his lips and smiled privately at his companion.</p><p>“I’m going to fuck you all night and I’ll start with this kiss.”</p><p>“What?” Anders’ eyes snapped wide open, swallowing the suffocating pulse in his throat. The world blurred around the edges of his vision until all he saw was the man before him. He must have misheard because he could not believe what was just said.</p><p>Hawke nodded and leant forward, tantalizingly close to Anders’ ear. “I said, I’m going to be stuck here all night and I still have to piss,” he whined in a slurry of words. “Can you hold my spot while I nip out to the alley?”</p><p>Anders nearly felt his soul leave his body at the statement and a rush of relief flowed through each cold limb. He could only nod in response, afraid the pitch of his voice would suspiciously high. As Hawke left to relieve himself, the comfort in his body turned into a heavier emotion he couldn’t quite place.</p><p>Finally seizing Corff’s focus, Anders ordered a fresh round for the crew and assured the barkeep Hawke would close out his tab by night’s end. Bringing the drinks to the table, he set them before each member of the group and assumed his seat with a hollow thud.</p><p>The words he thought he heard echoed in his ears. His infatuation was getting worse – he was now hallucinating his fantasies in real life and not just in the comfort of his clinic.</p><p>Suddenly a hand reached across his stupefied face and scooped a mug filled with frothy liquid. Hawke tossed the drink back with a greedy gulp and wiped the foam from his whiskers with the back of his hand. Shooting Anders a congenial wink, he made his way back to his seat. Halfway there, Corff whistled shrilly from across the room and rubbed his fingers together significantly - the universal sign for money. Hawke blew a raspberry and trudged over to his counter, coughing up the appropriate coin.</p><p>The minstrels of the Hanged Man changed the evening’s pace and began playing a livelier tune. A bow scored the strings of a fiddle hotly and wind instruments trilled in time to match.  Isabela perked her head from its casual roost on Fenris’ shoulder and tugged his arm.</p><p>“Ooh, come, dance with me!” she pleaded prettily.</p><p>He laughed humorlessly and shook his head. “I do not dance.”</p><p>Varric quirked his eyebrow. “Now, hang on, Broody. I distinctly remember you saying differently the other day.”</p><p>“Fair enough, I will amend my statement. I do not dance <em>publicly</em>.”</p><p>“You are no fun,” the pirate pouted.</p><p>“I assure you,” Fenris drawled sarcastically. “I am <em>oodles</em> of fun.”</p><p>“Vaaaaarric?” Isabela sang, fluttering her long eyelashes towards the dwarf to her right.</p><p>At his solemn declination, she threw her hands skyward in defeat. Isabela reached directly across the table and twined her fingers with the sweet elf’s bony ones, her last hope. Merrill beamed and nodded her head excitedly. Cheering, the pirate launched them towards the dance floor, the mage bouncing after her. Isabela was all sinew and swerving hips while Merrill hopped lightly on the balls of her feet and twirled. The two cavorted giddily and completely out of synch with one another, but this did nothing to lessen their joy.</p><p>“You know, the Circle would throw a midsummer dance for the apprentices,” Anders reminisced. “It was an awkward affair. I had never seen so many templars in one room. They would berate those who dared to dance too close: ‘Leave room for Andraste,’ they would say. I think they were afraid the dancing would incite invitations from desire demons. Truthfully, for most of us, our only desire was in <em>not</em> participating – at least in front of them.”</p><p>The smile fell from Anders’ face as he recalled private dances in his quarters, his only freedom of expression secreted away from the eyes of his captors. The world had melted away in Karl’s arms, his head tucked in the crook of his neck. The memory made his chest tight and brought a sting behind the eyes. He sipped his beverage sourly and let it wash the feeling from inside him.  </p><p>“Andraste preserve us,” Varric groaned with a chuckle. “Look at that mess.”</p><p>Anders and Fenris turned in their seats to take in the new spectacle. Hawke had weaseled his way onto the dance floor, wrapping his burly arms around Merrill’s thin waist nearly twice over. She squealed in delight as he lifted her above his head and back down. Lacing one hand with hers and the other with Isabela’s, he twirled them both in a lively circle. Merrill’s legs floated up in the air slightly from his strong whirling and Hawke abruptly stopped short to avoid hitting a passing patron. Physics was against them as they tumbled against each other, falling into a chaotic heap.</p><p>“That man is a hazard to this tavern,” Fenris intoned over the sound of earthenware smashing.</p><p>A woman tripped over the writing mess of limbs; her mug flung from her grasp. She landed squarely atop Hawke, but her outrage dissolved into a charmed smile in the face of his bashful grin. He helped the woman to her feet and then his two companions who rolled cheerily around on each other.</p><p>Isabela began conversing with Hawke, her fist planted against her hip defiantly. In response, he flailed his arms straight out from his sides, a commotion of disbelief.</p><p>Anders got up, stretched, and bid his tablemates a sudden good night.</p><p>“Leaving so soon, Blondie?”</p><p>“I’ve been away from the clinic too long already. I don’t like to leave potential patients waiting. Kirkwall has forgotten them; I don’t want them to think I have, too.”</p><p>Fenris uttered not a word, but pursed his lips with a nod of his head. Not looking in the mage’s direction, he simply lifted his ale in parting. Varric also tipped his mug in respect.</p><p>“Ya got a good heart, kid,” the dwarf expressed sincerely.</p><p>“Only the part that doesn’t belong to me,” he replied cryptically, heading towards the doors.</p><p>Fenris blew a patronizing breath from between his lips. “Mages never cease their vagaries.”</p><p>“I think he thinks it makes him enigmatic.”</p><p>“I think it makes him annoying.”</p><p>Varric grunted in agreement.</p><p>“I think he can still hear you two,” Anders called over his shoulder.</p><p>Before he made it past the tavern’s threshold, a calloused hand wrapped around his slim wrist. Anders’ head flicked to the appendage and up its limb to see flushed cheeks and hazy eyes meeting his. He smiled questioningly.</p><p>“Isabela claims Fereldens can’t dance. I tried getting Merrill to help me prove her wrong, but the Dalish have a…unique style that isn’t quite the same, even ones hailing from there,” Hawke said, giving Anders’ arm a light tug. “Let’s show her we can cut a rug with the best of them! Did you ever learn the Denerim Delight? Sebastian might know, actually, I think it originated in Starkhaven. Before we perfected it, of course.”</p><p>“I was actually on my way out,” Anders explained, eyeing the door and intentionally keeping his gaze away from their joined hands.</p><p>“Oh?” Hawke’s brow puckered slightly.</p><p>Anders winced apologetically and retracted his hand from the slackened grip. “I try not to be gone from the clinic this long.”</p><p>“That’s alright then. The least I can do is walk you back,” Hawke thought aloud.</p><p>“No, I couldn’t, I’ll be alright, Hawke—”</p><p>“Nonsense,” Hawke insisted. “Besides, it’s just a quick jaunt up the cellar stairs to my estate right next door.” Anders opened his mouth to object further, but Hawke silenced him with a simple, “It’s decided then.” He cupped his free hand around his mouth and hollered a resounding farewell to his remaining companions.</p><p>“Ah!” Merrill’s head picked up, bounding over to him before he left. “Hawke, I wanted to catch you before you leave. Is now too late? Are you in a rush? I hope I’m not keeping you. Am I? Oh dear.”</p><p>“The only place I hope you keep me is your heart, Merrill. What can I do for you?”</p><p>She blushed faintly and smiled widely. “The alienage is producing a show and it opens tomorrow. I was hoping you would like to join me? I would ask Varric, too, but he normally sleeps in past when the show is set to end.”</p><p>“I’d be happy to accompany you. What time should I swing by?”</p><p>“8, please!” she chirruped with a light bounce on her toes.</p><p>Hawke winked with a click of his cheek and saluted her. He glanced down at the mug she cupped in two hands, swiped it from her grasp, and downed its contents. Expecting sweet honeyed mead, he grimaced as bitter, clear, liquid passed his lips and shot straight to his head. His vision danced and the room spun harder, casting Merrill an appalled look.</p><p>The elf lifted her shoulders. “I prefer fermented potatoes to fruits,” she explained innocently.</p><p>Hawke, more disoriented than before, stumbled towards the mage who dutifully waited by the door. Slinging his arm around feathered shoulders, he tucked Anders into his side warmly and the two headed out into the fresh air. Fenris eyed their departure from his seat and made no comment. Varric, too, made no comment on the elf’s coincidentally harsh gulp of ale and the rattling thunk its container made against the table.</p><p>The chill of night cooled Hawke’s flushed cheeks and marginally cleared his head from the daze of his inebriation. “Too much to drink” had been about three drinks back, he realized, sagging against Anders’ side tiredly. Merrill’s mystery beverage on top of that toppled his world sideways in a nauseating tailspin. Away from the energy of the tavern, he felt exhaustion leech into himself bone-deep.</p><p>“I’m beginning to think this walk is more of a favor to you than me at this point,” Anders mused lightly, adjusting to better his hold on the inebriated champion.</p><p>Hawke’s head lilted, pointing down at the ground as it swayed back and forth. He murmured something under his breath that the mage couldn’t quite catch. Mentioning this, Hawke stood ramrod straight and clutched Anders’ face in his rough palms.</p><p>“Don’t fall off cliffs, An-ders. ‘s not good. Can’t lose my fuh-favorite heal-er,” he slurred.</p><p>Anders’ eyes darted between the palms that held his face in a vice-like grip. From puckered lips, he could only muster a simple, “Ok.”</p><p>Hawke’s misty eyes wobbled and trailed down the bridge of his nose to stare at the mage’s lips. Hawke’s hold forced Anders’ cheeks together, pursing those lips invitingly. He craned his head forward slowly as Anders’ breath hitched. Was he about to…?</p><p>The mage cringed as Hawke’s forehead solidly connected with his, heavy breathing rattling through his nose. Anders’ own nose crinkled in a mixture of amusement and displeasure.</p><p>“Alright. Time to get you home,” he remarked, heaving Hawke’s arm onto his shoulders once again, his own arm around his back. “You know, you remind me of a friend I had in the Grey Wardens right now. He could drink twice his weight in ale, but on those nights he couldn’t, I was somehow always designated to take him back to the Keep. I think it was because no one else could stand to touch him – and I admittedly delighted in tossing him carelessly onto the mattress. He would always bounce twice before landing on the floor.”</p><p>Hawke replied with a gentle chortle and a smile tugged at Anders’ lips.</p><p>They plodded on, making their way down the city’s stairs and through Darktown undisturbed. Anders thanked the Maker under his breath. He just knew with his luck if any assailants stopped them, he would be subject to Hawke’s friendly fire in such a disoriented state. Anders propped Hawke’s shoulder against the wall beside the cellar door and began frisking him.</p><p>Hawke chuckled through his nose. “Ser Templar, please. Buy a mage a drink before you get so handsy.”</p><p>“I assure you no Templar is this gentle,” Anders scowled, responding tepidly. “Hawke, damn it, where is your key?”</p><p>“’s in my pants.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Hawke patted the front of his trousers and vocalized plainly, “Pants.”</p><p>Anders stared at the fasteners of Hawke’s breeches indecisively. This felt like a trap. Although, a part of him had been curious for some time. Certain thoughts he only entertained in private threaded through his subconscious then, but he shook his head loose of them.</p><p>“Why is your key in your pants?”</p><p>Hawke shrugged vaguely. “Safe-ty.”</p><p>Anders balked. “How is it safer in your pants than around your neck as <em>most</em> people have it?”</p><p>He realized in vain that rationalizing with a drunk man was futile.</p><p>Hawke lifted his shoulders up again, his face pinched wearily. “Neck’s op-en. Who’d wanna get in my pants?”</p><p>“Anyone who’s looked at you longer than a minute,” he muttered to himself.</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“Could you even manage up the stairs if I found it?” Anders asked evasively.</p><p>Hawke answered by sliding down the wall, his back stuttering against the stucco.</p><p>Anders sighed and lifted him up again, depositing him a short distance away on his cot. He would have to take the floor tonight and he knew his hospitality would cost him his back that evening. Anders considerately adjusted his mother’s embroidered pillow under his friend’s head and drew the hemp blanket up to his chin. As he settled on the cold and dusty floor, he heard a plaintive noise come from the cot.</p><p>Anders glanced at Hawke who had his eyes shut tight, arms extended, and hands grabbing like the world’s largest infant.</p><p>“’m used to…dog. ‘s not supposed to be on the bed, but he’s…a good boy. Keeps me warm,” Hawke murmured sleepily.</p><p>Anders crawled up to the edge of the cot with a bemused head shake. “Am <em>I</em> a good enough boy befitting your needs, tonight?” he joked more to himself than Hawke, lifting the blanket to slide his body under.</p><p>“No, you’re better.”</p><p>Anders stopped moving and peered at the Champion’s tired face. Hawke smacked his lips sleepily and nestled further into the cot. When the mage settled down, he tried to lay on the outermost edge and keep space between them, though the cot only had so much room. Hawke’s body weight, however, dipped the cot and kept rolling Anders’ body towards his center of gravity. He finally gave up and stilled until he felt Hawke’s leg slide over his hip, his arm draping over his chest. Anders’ body planked rigidly in response, unsure whether he should relax or run.</p><p>If he hadn’t been fighting his feelings before, Anders was certainly at war with them now in such close and intimate proximity. Hawke snoozed, his face the perfect picture of ease, lips parted as a slight whistle breezed past them with every exhale. Anders' gaze fixated on those lips, his face close enough to feel his cheeks warmed by the Champion's breath. His hand twitched to stroke the lock of hair that fell over that handsome, sleeping face. It was a dangerous path to follow. He knew his fingers would not stop exploring that face, trailing down where bearded cheek met the swell of a sharp jawline, continuing down smooth neck and the rippling scars on his chest. Anders knew once his fingertips touched the patch of hair at Hawke's chest he would spread that hand lower until he felt where coarse turned wiry --</p><p>This was bad, this was very, very bad.</p><p>In very little time, he found the ability to care leaving him as his eyes sifted closed. He was gradually lulled to sleep by the gentle snoring and warmth from the body beside him. For the first time in a long time, his clinic didn’t feel so cold. He could worry about the rest later.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I imagine Fereldens are rigidly formal or primarily jig dancers. The “Denerim Delight” I based off the Scottish “Dancer’s Delight,” so if you want a little kick, check out youtube to see what Hawke wanted them to showcase.</p><p>Otherwise, thank you for reading! I am working on other chapters now and can't wait to put them out. I am a slut for comments/constructive criticisms so please feel free to leave them!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hangovers, plays, and a seemingly mischievous matchmaker are what's in store for Hawke this chapter.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Usually, it was the cold of the room that woke Hawke from his bear-like slumber. This morning, it was the light. Diluted rays blotched his features in harsh sunlight, his nose scrunching against the unusual feeling. Had Bodahn or his mother drawn his bedroom curtains back this morning – why?</p><p>He grappled in vain at the disappearing mists of his pleasant dream and blinked groggy eyes to stare above him at a dingy ceiling. Dingy? Hawke blinked harder, swiveling his head to take in his surroundings.</p><p>Evidently, this was not his room. Dirt floors where hexagonal tiles should be, tattered banners instead of burgundy drapery, a brazier hanging intimidatingly above his head as opposed to his warm fireplace, and in place of his bed a rickety cot. He took a curious sniff and inhaled the acrid scent he had come to know as Darktown; with a subtle musk of herbs. Grunting, Hawke sat up with sluggish difficulty as if a golem sat on his chest. A teal figure outlined with a hazy blear worked at a table a short distance away.</p><p>Anders had already been up for nearly an hour and even seen to a patient as his companion slept. The client had been an older man who complained of a particular burning sensation in a private region of his body. The healer asked the requisite questions – how often did he feel the sensation, did he have an active sex life, how many sexual partners, any medical history to be made aware of – and nearly broke conduct when he heard the mind-boggling number for his third question. Anders eyed the old man, his face weathered and hair thinning, but with a clean toothy smile that the mage could objectively see as charming, and reserved judgement. In fact, Anders inwardly applauded the elder for staying so active in what appeared to be his mid-60s.</p><p>“Take this salve and apply it to the afflicted area three times a day,” Anders ordered. He placed the ointment in a small package between two fingers and held it out to the man. As the client reached for it, Anders flipped it out of reach, looking him squarely in the eyes. “I <em>suggest</em> contacting your previous partners so they know to seek treatment, as well.”</p><p>The old man grinned in equal parts sheepishness and mischief, accepting the package gratefully. Before exiting, he turned around and asked, “Oh, healer, I’ve heard of some special roots that can help with…<em>potency</em>. I don’t particularly have trouble in that area, mind you, but at my age one does not look down his nose at a chance for increased virility. Do you happen to stock those?”</p><p>“Ah,” Anders’ lips twitched waggishly and laughter threatened to explode out of him. He brought his hand up to stroke his mouth as if in thought, though he was merely adjusting the growing smirk and attempting to reclaim his professionalism. “I have read about such a plant. I believe it hails from either Rivain or Antiva, though, so I have no means of getting it here to the Free Marches without extreme difficulty. Truthfully, I don’t know how accurate those tales of increased duration are. I’ve never been privy to personal experimentations of it.”</p><p>“Certainly seems like you’ve never <em>needed</em> to be ‘privy to personal experimentations of it.’ That poor boy is still sleeping off whatever you did to him last night.” The old man unsurreptitiously eyed the sleeping Champion on the only cot in the clinic, raising an insinuating brow at him.</p><p> Anders followed the client’s line of sight, opened his mouth to rebut the man’s assumption, then shut it with a vague raise of his shoulder. Having spent most of his life in the Circle and on the run, he learned early on to keep his personal affairs private. Now working for the Mage Underground, he discovered any information was too much information. It was out of his control what the world would think him, but he had consistently survived off plausible deniability and wasn’t about to stop that now.</p><p>With an impish smile and knowing pat on the healer’s shoulder, the old man hobbled away and left.</p><p>Anders idly wondered if he should have more openly denied the client’s insinuation. By the middle of the day there could be new gossip that the Champion of Kirkwall was sleeping with Darktown’s infamous healer. He shrugged to himself with a private smile. It wouldn’t be the worst rumor he had been a part of. Kirkwall would hear no objection from him if folks assumed his sex life was more active than it was. A mage could dream.</p><p>A separate voice like fog rebelled against those thoughts. Anders had an immense love and respect for his friend, but Justice’s staunch dedication to what was right at all times interfered with the mage’s private and idle fantasies. He tried to emphasize that mere thought was harmless, but explaining that to a spirit was like explaining color to a person that could not see. Anders sighed with mild frustration and continued his day.</p><p>The healer took his time sorting his collection of herbs in groups for later distillation into potions. While Hawke slept, he had prepared a simple decoction for him and set it aside. A few moments later, he heard the telltale grunt of awakening from behind him. Palming the glass in his hand, he turned toward the sound.</p><p>“Morning,” Anders spoke with intentional softness, his eyes kind as he knelt before his friend.</p><p>Hawke raised a brow above a bleary eye then sucked his breath in quickly, face pinched and hand fluttering to his temple. “Ah, my head,” he croaked plaintively.</p><p>“I expected as much,” Anders smiled sympathetically. He extended his hand in front of Hawke’s face, offering him the beverage. “I made you this. It should help take the edge off.”</p><p>It looked to be a simple glass of water with a few sprigs of vivid green leaves. It gave off a subtle, minty bouquet. “Elfroot?”</p><p>The healer nodded. “Plenty of fluids with a hint of Elfroot: The Maker’s perfect hangover miracle.”</p><p>Hawke gladly accepted and downed the drink in two greedy gulps, puffing mentholated air into his companion’s face with a satisfied, “Pah.”</p><p>“Better?”</p><p>“Much,” Hawke said around a yawn, rubbing the back of his sore neck. “I must have been pretty far gone to not make it home. Sorry if I made you take the floor.”</p><p>“You didn’t,” Anders shook his head. “In fact, you insisted I sleep with you last night.”</p><p>Hawke’s lips pulled down ponderously as he slowly lifted the blanket that pooled in his lap. He had mixed feelings to find his pants still securely fastened.</p><p>The mage blanched and bit out a quick, “Maker, no, not like that!”</p><p>The champion gave a deep belly-laugh and clapped a hand to his companion’s bristled back. “No? More’s the pity.”</p><p>Anders’ lips quirked to the side. He could seldom tell where joke ended and truth began with Hawke. The Champion was a notorious flirt and approached life with the zeal of a court jester. It was as endearing as it was frustrating and it kept Anders awake most nights in the best and worst ways. Still, a man could dream…and pine…and yearn.</p><p>Anders rolled his eyes and replied after a beat, “Well, you compared me to your mabari last night. It wouldn’t have been the best come-on. Though, truth be told, I have gotten into beds for less.”</p><p>“I’m sure I meant it complimentarily.”</p><p>“Actually, you said I was better than your dog,” Anders smirked.</p><p>“That’s a bold statement. My mabari is quite the cuddler. Shame I can’t remember if that’s true of you or not,” Hawke shook his head and stood. He offered his hand to Anders who took it and rose as well. With a saucy wink, he continued, “Perhaps you and I will have to try again another night.”</p><p>Damn his jokes, it was getting so hard to differentiate reality from friendly banter and his own wishful thinking. He knew Hawke was too genuine a person to toy with him, but at times it felt as if he were holding a red flag of temptation across a chasm of uncertainty to the bull of Anders’ desires. Hawke never backed up his flirtations and it left with a myriad of questions: Was he serious? Was he playing? Was he aware of Anders’ feelings? Was he aware of his own? Did he even have any about Anders? Did he want to move forward or did he want Anders to? It was all too much, yet frustratingly not enough.</p><p>“Hmm,” was all Anders said in a vague response, his eyes cast to the side.</p><p>“Merrill’s blighted liquor really took it out of me last night. For being the smallest of us all, she can really handle a powerful drink,” a proud smile flitted across his lips until it died, a sudden realization dawning on him. “Merrill! I promised to meet her today! Do you know the time?”</p><p>“I’d wager it’s half past 7?”</p><p>“Andraste’s dirty socks, I’m going to be late,” Hawke complained, yanking a cord from around his neck and producing a bronze key.</p><p>Anders’ brow furrowed. “I thought you said you keep your key in your pants?”</p><p>Hawke’s face twisted in confusion. “What? Why would I do that?” he asked. “That sounds like a line my uncle Gamlen would use at the Blooming Rose.”</p><p>Anders was too busy mulling over the implications of what that meant to respond. If Hawke truly did keep his key around his neck, why had he drunkenly insisted they were in his pants last night? Did he want Anders to take his pants off, to what end? Some silly farce, Anders thought, but was becoming less certain.</p><p>While he connected the dots, Hawke made a break for the exit, skidding comically as he rounded the corner towards his estate’s cellar. Anders heard a strangled groan and saw the Champion dart back down the clinic’s stairs into Darktown, shouting that he didn’t have time.</p><p>Before Anders could spend the rest of his day considering Hawke’s behavior, a man and woman entered his clinic. The woman rested heavily against the man’s side, one hand on her back; her belly swollen well into her third trimester. The healer jogged lightly to them and wrapped her other arm around his shoulder, easing her to his table for her checkup. His eyes creased sympathetically as they met the pinched and worried gaze of the father-to-be’s.</p><p>Anders knew firsthand that sometimes life brought unexpected surprises that could change your whole world. Sometimes that change was a person that challenged you for the better. Like the Warden-Commander - like Hawke. The healer sent a little prayer skyward that the refugee he helped saw the things the same way when the day came.</p>
<hr/><p>Hawke thanked the Maker for his nearly inexhaustive wells of stamina as he tore through Darktown, up the stairs to Lowtown, and finally towards the alienage. Carver had mocked him as children: what use were muscles to a mage? Hawke found they were in fact quite useful for a number of reasons – especially when he would wrap his siblings up in an inescapable embrace. Their faces – one shining, one scowling – crossed his mind then and he lost his momentum. Hands on his knees, he exhaled shakily then summoned his breath in a strong gust and continued, planting a smile firmly on his face.</p><p>It was a coping mechanism Hawke had learned from a young age.</p><p>Being an apostate on the run had taken its toll on his father. He was a stern and resolute man, but with so much love for his family it saddened him deeply to see where the cost of his heritage had taken them. In private moments, he saw his father’s innate pride for his magic-born children clouded with guilt. They were quick flashes of emotion pinched tightly in the corners of his eye when he thought the children weren’t looking, but Hawke caught it.</p><p>Hawke never wanted to contribute to his father’s burdens and learned to hide most of his emotions from him and the others. He would furtively slap a grin to his face and wax humorously against all the worries, anxieties, and his own growing guilt at being magically-born in a world that would deny them comfort. His family’s bright smiles and laughs would almost make him feel better, but if he could bring a little joy to them – even at the expense of his own – he would gladly.</p><p>“It’s your job as a big brother,” his mother had told him once. “To look after others – no matter what.”</p><p>For years he internalized her words, yet despite his best efforts, he wasn’t sure he knew how to anymore. There was nothing he could have done for his Father, but guilt sat as heavy on his shoulders as the family’s burdens placed upon him once he passed. There were still times when Hawke woke from the grip of sleep, thrashing, soaked in a cold sweat; he could hear the crunch of Bethany’s bones and his mother’s vitriolic blame – and she had been right. If he had only reacted faster, gotten to her side sooner, maybe he – but it no longer mattered. Bethany was gone and Carver now, too. Just another in his string of failures. His only saving grace was Carver was alive and well, only the Maker knew where. The excuse tasted bitter as Hawke knew his younger brother was merely on borrowed time, his death only prolonged until the taint or Darkspawn claimed him.</p><p>An excitable commotion stole his attention then. Merrill waved cheerily in the distance, bouncing up and down. Hawke’s faux smile strengthened as he jogged over to her past the buzzing crowd between them. He hadn’t realized just how many elves lived in the cramped quarters of the alienage; they must have been one on top of the other in those apartments.</p><p>“I hope I’m not late,” Hawke said by way of apology.</p><p>“No, no, we still have plenty of time. I’m so glad you came!” she replied, wrapping her arms around one of his. “Sorry, there’s no seating, but I figured we could find a spot in the back.”</p><p>“I slept on a cot last night, sitting on the ground might be good for my back,” he assured.</p><p>“Oh,” her brow piqued. “Did something happen to your bed?”</p><p>“Actually,” he shot her an accusatory look. “That drink of yours last night did a number on me. I couldn’t make it home and Anders had me sleep it off in his clinic.”</p><p>Her mouth tweaked up at the corners and she pressed her lips together to stop their squirming. “You slept with Anders?” she fluttered her wide eyes with feigned innocence.</p><p>“Ha ha,” he scrunched his nose at her. “As a matter of fact, I did. Just not in that way.”</p><p>“That’s a shame, then,” she said sincerely.</p><p>“That’s what I said!”</p><p>“Well, if you mean that…You know, you have a habit of turning your thoughts into jokes. Do you ever think about clearing it up for him? I mean, you don’t have to, of course, it’s your choice, but, <em>well</em>. I’m babbling. Am I babbling? Oh, you think I’d have gotten better about this in the last three years.”</p><p>“He has a lot going on. I don’t want to add any more burdens unless he asks me to outright,” Hawke explained.</p><p>“You do care for him, though, don’t you?” she asked.</p><p>“Yes, very much. Probably more than I have anyone else,” he admitted. Flashes of teal and blonde then black and silver infiltrated his mind. “But he’s…not the only one, I think. Lately, my mind’s been plagued by thoughts of Anders and –”</p><p>“Oh, let me guess! Varric? I think you two would make such a lovely couple!” Merrill squealed delightedly.</p><p>Hawke barked a laugh. “Maker, no! I could never enter into a relationship with a <em>crossbow</em> as legitimate competition. It isn’t fair; Bianca would win every time. She has curves in all the right places and I’ve seen how lovingly he strokes them when nobody’s looking.”</p><p>“Then who?</p><p>“Fen…ris?” Hawke rubbed the back of his head with a tight smile. Cracking his eyes open, he saw Merrill stare at him blankly.</p><p>“But you’re a mage,” she stated plainly.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“He hates mages,” another statement, spoken plainly.</p><p>“Yes,” Hawke repeated. “He and I have gotten to know each other more over the last couple years, though. I’ve been helping him with a personal matter and he seems to have come around to me. At least, I think as much.”</p><p>“Well, have you tried pursuing something with him, since you won’t with Anders?”</p><p>“Dealing with Fenris can sometimes feel like a duel. For a while, it’s almost like a pleasant dance, but one false move and I’m sure to be impaled,” Hawke mused. “And it’s not that I won’t with Anders, I feel as though it isn’t right without knowing where he stands. I meant it when I said he has a lot going on, more than I know I’m sure. The times I try, he shoots me a look as if I’ve strangled his cat. I can see him grappling with something, but he never elucidates that expression and I respect his boundary not to push.”</p><p>Merrill nodded sympathetically.</p><p>“If I’m honest, I think a small selfish part of me also doesn’t want to engage with one and lose the opportunity with the other,” Hawke sighed.</p><p>“Have you considered courting them both?”</p><p>Her words were guiltless, but his eyes snapped to hers incredulously. “Merrill, doesn’t that seem a bit dishonest? I know I play things up a bit roguishly, but it’s all done in good fun.”</p><p>“Not if it’s casual,” Merrill pondered aloud. “Right? I don’t see the problem with that. Granted, it was difficult enough to make friends in my clan, let alone romances, so I don’t really have <em>personal</em> experience with this, but just thinking on it, if you aren’t committed or tied down, how could it be wrong? What’s the worst that can happen?”</p><p>Flashes of crackling blue spirit energy and phantom hands extracting hearts came to Hawke’s mind unpleasantly. He grimaced and shook himself free of it.</p><p>“That seems precariously like toeing the line of infidelity. I don’t really know that I could do that. It is getting harder, though. No, don’t give me that look, Merrill, I didn’t mean it that way. Well, this time, I didn’t. You’re a surprisingly cheeky little thing, aren’t you?”</p><p>Merrill giggled, lightening the mood, then peered across the crowd where elves began to sit down in preparation for the show. The loud conversations dampened with anticipation, reserved whispers like the dull buzz of a gnat. She ushered Hawke to the back of the gathering with a beckoning wave of her hand.</p><p>The Champion nodded as he passed the elves politely. Most ignored him. Some shot questioning and even dirty looks his way. A few raised their hands with hesitant manners, not entirely sure what to make of a human amongst them for an elven gathering. The two sat down a bit further away from the rest near a father whose child restlessly sat in his lap the times he wasn’t crawling all around him.</p><p>As Hawke plopped down beside Merrill, who folded in on herself with contrasting grace, he noticed the little boy blinking at him in the way that children impolitely do. The child had dusty brown hair, large boysenberry eyes, and a small scrape on his cheek. Hawke turned and pulled a silly face at the boy who grinned toothily. The child then pointed a stubby finger at the side of the Champion’s face.</p><p>“You’re a shem!” he exclaimed in a matter-of-fact way.</p><p>“What,” Hawke gasped dramatically. “But mother said my ears would grow in any day now!”</p><p>The father of the boy wrapped the child in his arms, forcing him to sit still in his lap, his large hand around the boy’s mouth. “Sorry, messere, he didn’t mean anything by it,” the man apologized, a cautious tightness to his eyes.</p><p>“Please, none of that. You can call me Hawke if you like, but there’s certainly no need to stand on ceremony.”</p><p>The elf eyed him warily, but nodded after a pause. He said nothing else, but yelped a second later and shook his hand wildly as his son bit into it.</p><p>Once freed, the boy asked, “If you’re a sh--“ he cowed under his father’s stern gaze. “<em>-- human</em> what are you doing in the alienage?”</p><p>“I came to see the show with my friend here,” Hawke reclined back to bring Merrill into focus. She waved her fingers at the child, her eyes creased in a smile. “Is that alright with you?”</p><p>The boy nodded authoritatively; his arms crossed in front of his small body.</p><p>“Glad to hear it! Look, I think it’s starting.”</p><p>A gradual hush descended on the crowd as two figures emerged from behind the vhenadahl. The person on the left had one side of her head shaved while the other side flowed with flaming orange-red tresses. Her outfit was a patchwork of multicolored leathers beneath a burgundy cloak. The other was dressed in a luxuriant blue robe with gold piping, jet black hair was braided in one thick plait down the middle of his head.  </p><p>“Oh!” Merrill squeaked, excited hands covering her mouth. “I think this is supposed to be the story of Elya the Cunning! Well, that was our version, I have heard other translations. The unkind ones have called this The Duplicitous Dale or Elya the Whore…But I don’t think that’s true. Oh,” the color drained from her already pale face. “Oh no.”</p><p>Hawke quirked his brow. “Oh no?”</p><p>“Um,” she squirmed, then shrugged awkwardly. “Well, we’ll see if you see, actually.”</p><p>He pondered that cryptic sentence, but focused on the show for the time.</p><p>The actors bowed before the audience and the robed figure moved out of view behind the alienage’s venerable tree. The actress that remained reached her arms out and peered across the crowd. She spoke in a smooth, rich, voice that furrowed Hawke’s brow. He initially thought he was too far to hear properly, rubbing a finger in his ear, then realization hit him.</p><p>“Merrill,” he whispered in her ear, her face already enraptured with the program. “Is this in Elvish?”</p><p>“Mmhm,” she answered distractedly. “It’s a bit broken, but yes.”</p><p>Elya continued her soliloquy, pacing back and forth, engaging the audience with her eyes meaningfully.</p><p>“Merrill,” Hawke said patiently. “I don’t speak Elvish.”</p><p>She finally looked at him, confusion in her eye. Gasping, a hand slapped to her forehead.  </p><p>“By the Creators, of course you don’t! Oh no, this was so silly of me. I was just so excited to have someone along I forgot. Some of it <em>will</em> be in Common, but I can translate the rest for you, if you don’t mind! I understand if you’d want to go, though.”</p><p>Hawke put his hand on the top of her head and watched the pout disappear from her lips.</p><p>“Of course, I don’t mind, Merrill. I’m here for your company, after all.”</p><p>“Ok. So right now, they <em>are</em> introducing Elya the Cunning. She was a Dalish elf - that’s her on the stage. Oh, you picked up on that already? Sorry,” she winced bashfully and continued. “They haven’t mentioned it yet, but she is a shapeshifter and her favorite form was a fox because its fiery fur matched her hair. Oh! They just said that now.”</p><p>The actress stroked her hand against her flaming locks of hair. She whirled around and instantly her face was covered in a pointy mask with tufts of orange and white fur and telltale black whiskers. She continued monologuing in Elvish.</p><p>“She’s explaining that Elya was so beautiful, she was coveted across the land. Her beauty masked her intelligence – well, that’s not the word she used, the word is actually pronounced, sorry, never mind - of which was equal in measure. Elya the Cunning preferred being in another creature’s skin than her own most days for the animals had no concept of something as trivial as beauty.”</p><p>Hawke nodded solemnly. “Ah, yes. I know that pain all too well. For too long people have been unable to look past my charming good looks to see the true brain behind this brawn.”</p><p>Merrill laughed like the chime of a bell and nudged his side with her shoulder.</p><p>“Because of what the…ehm…humans did to the elves; many were forced to unhappily wander Thedas in search of a new home – and still do to this day. That’s us, the Dalish, of course, but you know that. Elya, however, loved to explore the world around her and found contentment in their displacement,” she continued translating. “She would even transform into dwarves and sometimes humans to experience life through their eyes in their world.”</p><p>“I understood that last part, Merrill, it was in Common,” Hawke teased gently.</p><p>“Oops, sorry.”</p><p>With an impressive sleight of hand, the fox mask disappeared within the burgundy cloak and the actress was an elf once more. A new actor came around the tree, halting her movement with a stern hand. The new elf was dressed in a moss-colored mantle with a white fur lining. His hair was a mop of dull orange the color of rust. He moved his arms broadly, head bobbing as he spoke, then smacked his fist atop his palm self-importantly.</p><p>“Her Keeper noticed her forays outside of the clan. He spoke to her about responsibility,” Merrill recited in time with the actor. “She was not only a member of his clan, but his child as well.  Because of this, she had been offered to wed another elf in a neighboring clan. The union was an attempt to settle disputes between these rivals. Elya the Cunning cursed the engagement and ran into the forest. Her plan was to live forever more as an animal where her father could not distinguish her from the next.”</p><p>The actress on stage dramatically played up the emotions, tossing her head back as she twirled and swapped back into the fox-face, running around the vhenadahl. Once she circled around again the mask was gone and Elya draped herself across a stagehand dressed as a birch tree. The actress’ body heaved and choking noises came from her that needed no translation. An unseen narrator’s voice spoke loudly across the audience.</p><p>“Elya wept,” Merrill repeated his words in the Common tongue. “For days against the tree. She cried for so long her tears became permanently fixed upon the bark.  To this day, if you see crystalline dew atop the moss of a tree, know you walk the same path as Elya the Cunning. This is true, we do call that particular moss Elya’s Tears.” Merrill nodded in agreement. “Ah, anyway! Elya knew she could not forsake her duty to the clan she loved and resigned herself to her fate. She returned and in her father’s tent sat – ooh! There he is, in the blue and gold! – Valren. He was a beautiful and imposing mage himself – we actually have another story all about his time before he met Elya. Oh, ok, yes. He did not swoon at the sight of her, but matched her gaze. Elya saw an intelligence in his eyes that mirrored hers. She found an equal in her betrothed and the two were shortly married.”</p><p>On the dirt stage, the actors stood with their hands atop each other’s, a red ribbon draped around their arms. The orange-haired Keeper and a new actor, presumably the other clan’s Keeper, ceremonially tossed the couple’s joined hands skyward. The ribbon flew in the air and settled around Elya and Valren’s shoulders.</p><p>“Hmm. For my clan we use a white or green ribbon. It’s interesting how different traditions can be between clans. Actually, maybe it’s because they don’t know better. Or they’re just using red because it’s more dramatic,” Merrill mused aloud.</p><p>“I’m quite partial to red so you’ll have no complaints from me,” Hawke admitted, tapping the smear of crimson across his nose.</p><p>In the next scene, the actor who played Valren and the actress who played Elya began swaying in sync beside each other, their hands moving elliptically. They exchanged glances and responded to each other with a confident nod. One of the stagehands swirled a vibrant blue sash like a cyclone around Valren. The gold-and-blue mage pushed his hands out from his chest in the same moment the helper snapped the ribbon taut, whipping in the direction Valren’s hands pointed. It cracked impressively like the sound of thunder.</p><p>Elya simultaneously raised her hand skyward and the other stagehand helped her cycle through a fox, halla, wolf, bear, and dragon mask all stashed within her burgundy mantle. The scene showcased their growing powers and the clearly positive influence they had on the other.</p><p>Hawke’s jaw fell in childish wonderment. “Could she turn into a dragon?” he whispered, a mixture of glee and admiration in his tone.</p><p>Merrill nodded and explained that it took an exceptionally powerful mage to transform into such a mighty beast, and Elya was purported to do it according to legend.</p><p>Something about Valren’s lightning blue magic and the color of Elya’s cloak was familiar to Hawke, but he couldn’t quite place it in that moment. He found himself becoming thoroughly wrapped up by the story – and Merrill’s enthusiastic retelling of it in his ear.</p><p>The Champion hummed appreciatively as both actors embraced and shared a passionate kiss on stage. They broke apart and stared lovingly into the other’s face. Children and adolescents in the audience made scornful noises, embarrassed by the sight as the young often are. Merrill cooed delightedly.</p><p>“Though their marriage was arranged, true love had blossomed between Elya and Valren. The fate of their clans bound them together, but it was in learning the true strength of the other that united them as people – and such was the hope for their clans,” The unseen narrator spoke in Common.</p><p>“You are my daybreak and my nightfall,” Valren’s actor confessed in a deep timber as he cupped the actress’ face tenderly. “My ending begins with you.”</p><p>“You are the wind in my aravel,” she replied strongly in kind. “For I could not go on without you.”</p><p>“Though her words were true, Elya’s heart grew listless. Her love for Valren was strong, but it was not enough to quell the yearning emptiness in her heart. Elya missed the days of her travels. She missed the adventure that called to her from the animals, the dwarves, and even the shemlen.”</p><p>The narrator switched back to Elvish and Merrill picked up her translations.</p><p>“Over the years, Valren had grown more radical in his beliefs. He was sickened by the injustice brought upon the elves by the shem—<em>humans –</em> and longed for the days of Arlathan. He thought to create a new <em>place of love</em> with his bride and to even go so far as pushing the humans out. But with each speech and battleplan he made to carve out their new world of elvhen glory, he unknowingly pushed her away, too. For Elya the Cunning knew his way would be mired in the blood of all people, even theirs.”</p><p>“Radical” and “injustice” struck a chord within the Champion as he recalled what about the crackling blue energy seemed so familiar. He glanced towards his companion out the corner of his eye.</p><p>“Merrill,” he said, low.</p><p>Her back stiffened, but made no other move to indicate she heard him, focused on the stage a little too pointedly.</p><p>Hawke turned his attention back towards the performance, too, piecing together her earlier comment and presumptions as to why the play was alternatively titled The Duplicitous Dale.</p><p>The actress who played Elya began to solemnly walk away from her husband before peering over her shoulder at him. Valren imitated his speeches silently as he waved his arms wildly towards the crowd at stage left. Elya looked toward the sky, called out to it in words Hawke could not understand, and then bent her head, umber tresses blocking her face woefully.</p><p>From behind the vhenadahl another actor emerged with a group of three children dressed in stark white bodysuits and antlers. One waved towards the audience and mouthed, “Hi, mama!” This was met with a wave of “awww’s” from the adult members of the audience, charmed by the adorable little hallas.</p><p>“Elya reached out to the Creators for guidance and saw a shepherd taking his herd out to graze. A plan came to her: if she stole into the forests, like that time so many years ago, perhaps Valren would lose the strength to continue his mad quest. Elya transformed into a golden halla and blended with the flock. At a safe enough distance, she shifted into her most comfortable form and ran off into the wilds once more. She ran and ran until the trees began to thin.”</p><p><em>Crack</em>. The crowd jumped at the sudden noise. Two stagehands clapped their palms together loudly as a Elya fell, her foot caught in a prop-trap, crying out from beneath the fox-mask. A new figure came into view, a wolf’s pelt draped across her head and shoulders, the clothing beneath a collage of forest hues: mottled greens and browns. Noticeably, the ears were somehow shaped down to appear more human, but she was clearly an elf-born actress. Hawke was idly curious how they managed to adjust the ears; it was nice attention to detail.</p><p>“A hunter had been tracking Elya, an easy target in her brightly colored fox-form, laying traps in the area she predicted the fox would go. When the hunter entered the clearing, Elya noticed she was a battle-worn human,” Merrill continued. “Elya knew she must change out of her animal form to prevent being eaten, but fear of how this human would react to her natural body gave her pause. Elya the Cunning was crafty indeed and she decided to speak instead.”</p><p>“Oh, human,” Elya’s actress spoke in Common. “If you would only spare me, I could reward you greatly.”</p><p>“I have no need for a reward greater than supper,” said the human, striding closer to the fox-Elya’s prone body.</p><p>“I am but a measly fox, I do not have much meat to fill you. I am, however, very clever and I promise if you let me go, I will bring back a supper truly worthy of you,” Elya responded.</p><p>The narrator spoke in Elvish next and Merrill interpreted dutifully.</p><p>“The human allowed Elya to leave and was surprised to find the creature was honest. She had brought back five sumptuous salmons from the river. Hm. They’re not explaining it here, but in our version, she transforms into a bear to do this. I think it’s because time’s running short. Oh, sorry, he’s still talking, um. The hunter in thanks bandaged her wound. Elya grew comfortable around the human, whose name she learned was Asena, and travelled by her side for months – gaining each other’s trust. Gradually passion planted its seed in her chest. Well, that’s a loose translation, there isn’t a direct one between our languages for <em>that</em> phrase.”</p><p>The story was unfolding exactly as Hawke predicted: a choice between two lovers. How unfortunately apropos.</p><p>“Merrill…” he said; voice low again.</p><p>“Anyway!” Merrill continued evasively. “The calling in Elya had been answered by none other than a human. Asena asked, one day, how a fox could come to speak. Elya the Cunning cleverly admitted she was cursed and only a true love’s kiss could break the spell. But Elya had become too enthralled and could not maintain her own animal form.”</p><p>Elya, with her fox mask fastened tight, had moved incrementally closer to the human over the course of the monologue. Asena reached cautious hands and cradled her face, placing a fervent kiss upon the elf’s mouth. Elya sunk into the human’s embrace before reeling back. Her fox-mask had intentionally slipped from her face and revealed to Asena the truth. The actress who played the human jumped backwards, a hand reaching for a dagger in alarm.</p><p>“An elf! I was deceived by an elf!” the huntress cried in Common. “I shall have your heart for this!”</p><p>That sounded familiar, too, Hawke sardonically thought to himself.</p><p>Merrill gasped as Elya hid her face with her hands, Asena stalking towards her.</p><p>“I thought you knew this story,” Hawke whispered.</p><p>“I do, but the drama,” she exclaimed quietly. “It gets me every time!”</p><p>The unseen narrator spoke in Elvish once more, a solemnity to his words. The actresses exited from view behind the large tree during his monologue.</p><p>“Asena could not bring herself to treat the women she now loved as prey. She cast her dagger aside and spared the elf, but could look upon her no longer. Elya did the only thing she truly knew to do: she ran. She had spent her life running from problems that assailed her. Wise as she was, she had learned when it was time to stay and when it was time to flee. Oh no, I think this is nearing the end,” Merrill paused her translation, her eyes wide and brow pinched. “The wilds had always been her escape from the troubles that plagued her, a refuge to think in safety. But one cannot run towards peace when the problems are within. Elya the Cunning felt the heart in her chest beat for two she could no longer stand to be with, nor be apart from - and she realized she was not clever enough to escape herself.”</p><p>Hair like flames came from around the bend of the vhenadahl. In her hands a sword.</p><p>“Well, <em>that</em> doesn’t bode well,” Hawke muttered out the side of his mouth.</p><p>Merrill nodded gravely. She started her translation again, glumly, “Seeing only one way out, Elya’s last act of cunning was to sink the blade deep into the heart that hurt her - and that of the two she loved most. Death her new reprieve.”</p><p>The actress slid the prop blade between her side and arm and cried out softly before slinking against the birch-tree-actor who had returned for this scene. From either side of the vhenadahl emerged her two lovers. Valren fell to his knees with a piercing howl just as Asena dropped to hers with an equally mournful wail. Their eyes fell upon each other and they visibly stiffened.</p><p>“Realization struck the two like a physical blow, for the grief in their voices could come from nothing but love. Valren felt a seething rage at the human he realized had stolen his bride from him and Asena was gripped by the cold of betrayal once again, knowing the woman she loved had another. Driven mad by this, the two unleashed their hurt against the other.”</p><p>Visceral screams tore from the actors’ lips as they attacked. A dagger pierced Valren’s chest as he launched a balled, electric-blue ribbon towards Asena. All went eerily silent as the two crashed to the ground, slain; their hands poetically reached for one of Elya’s even in death.</p><p>“The lesson, dear audience,” the unseen narrator finally ventured from around the vhenadahl, speaking in Common. “If we indulge each passing whim, we stand to hurt not only ourselves, those around us. For no matter how clever or cunning we may think we are, no creature – elf, dwarf, or human alike – can outrun their heart forever.”</p><p>“I think the lesson is not to fall for a dirty shem when you’ve got a fine piece of elvhen ass waiting for you at home!” a raucous voice hollered from somewhere in the middle of the crowd. This was met with a few good-natured jeers and claps of affirmation.  </p><p>The narrator schooled his expression, a smile stretching across his freckled face. “Perhaps,” he said with a hint of humor.  He went on, ushering the cast and crew by name who came one at a time to growing applause from around the great tree.</p><p>The troupe bowed graciously as claps echoed like thunder through the alienage. Dying down, the audience picked itself apart and milled about in smaller groupings, discussing the performance amongst themselves and those of the cast that weren’t undressing elsewhere.</p><p>The little boy who sat beside the Champion was picked up by his father, his body lolling sleepily in the man’s arms. The motion jostled the child awake, perking up and starting to wriggle to the father’s exhausted chagrin. The young elf reached futile hands out towards Hawke who chuckled and waved after him.</p><p>“So,” Merrill clapped her hands together and standing with fluid grace. “What did you think?”</p><p>“I think this is exactly why I am vindicated in not going for <em>both</em> of the people I’m interested in like you suggested. Overall, though,” he teased then gave an honest critique. “I thought it was a stirring performance. You retold it quite compellingly. I especially liked the birch tree; I think that man deserves an award.”</p><p>“I don’t think the narrator was right, you know. That’s not the lesson I learn from her tale. I think Elya’s mistake was consistently running away when things got a little too troublesome. If she had communicated her desires, perhaps they would have understood. Then again, maybe not. But love is not a whim like the story claims, not truly, and to indulge it is a chance worth taking, I think.” Merrill stared at him significantly, her eyes boring into his.</p><p>Hawke eyed her peculiarly in return. It was easy for the world to mistake her exuberance for naivety, but Merrill was wiser than most gave her credit.</p><p>“That is food for thought, but it’s of little consequence. My point still stands that I don’t wish to burden either of them with my feelings. I’ve got these broad shoulders for a reason, better that my feelings fall upon my own head than theirs.”</p><p>“But what if,” she mused as they walked up the stairs away from the alienage. A short distance away, the squeal of rusted bolts screeched unpleasantly as someone unlatched a gate leading to a minor alleyway. “What if one of them decided to open the gate?”</p><p>“How do you mean?”</p><p>“What if they came to you first, unlocked the gate of their own hearts willingly, and confessed their feelings? What then?”</p><p>“Then I suppose…” Hawke considered the situation, the curl of a smile blooming on his face. “It would be fair game.”</p><p>Merrill hummed understandingly in response. If there was an ulterior motive to the sound, it went over his head.</p><p>The two made their way beyond the dwindling noise of the elven quarter, up two flights of stairs, and past his uncle’s hovel – he thought to stop by, but decided against a lovely berating from the miserable grouch. They ambled along in content, friendly silence, Merrill bobbing her head to an unsung tune.</p><p>“Can’t believe I used to get so lost here,” she said, confidently. “Now I know it like my own palm. See, we’re about to come up on the Hanged Man to our right!”</p><p>“I’d check your hand then, Merrill, the Hanged Man is coming up to our left.”</p><p>“Shoot,” she pouted.</p><p>“Did you want to stop in?” Hawke jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the tavern, smiling slyly. “I think Isabela’s in there right now.”</p><p>Merrill giggled, but declined. “I actually needed to grab something from the market. Care to join?”</p><p>He shrugged affirmatively, not wanting to get soused so soon after last night, and followed her lead.</p><p>The market square was abustle with stall-owners barking out deals for their fresh wares and imports. Dozens of people moved with purposeful strides through the space, some argued and haggled, others tried not to get squashed between the writhing bodies of other patrons. One body in particular moved with a sleek, yet aggravated, grace. The hair, more than his movements, marked his identity – an unmistakable, stark white against the sea of chestnut and raven-haired denizens.</p><p>Merrill yipped excitedly and grabbed Hawke’s hand in hers, surging them forward. The Champion tossed a few sorry’s and ‘scuse me’s over his shoulder to each disgruntled tsk as they plowed through the crowd. The elf stopped them both before the other whose lips curled warningly until registering who had entered his personal space so abruptly. His face cooled as he eyed the pair and a smirk threatened to tug at his lips noticing the bedraggled and wild expression on Hawke’s face. He threw the elven mage a pointed look that she ignored.</p><p>“Fenris!” Merrill greeted in a happy little chirrup. “What are you doing at the market today?”</p><p>“What anyone does at the market: shopping,” he stated point-blank, a sarcastic brow arched.</p><p>“Mm. Us, too. Oh,” she tapped her forehead with the heel of her hand. “I just remembered, that, ehm, thing I needed – I have it at home already. S’pose I can just head back then. Oh no, don’t be silly, no need to leave on my account, Hawke.”</p><p>“Merrill—” Hawke tried, but she cut him off with a brisk goodbye and dogged through passersby.</p><p>The remaining mage blew a frustrated breath from his lips as he watched her go, raking a hand through his mussed locks.</p><p>Fenris looked at him, then towards the shopkeepers, and back again. Not wanting to appear rude – and the sight was not a bad one to look at - he waited as patiently as he could, but he did still need to shop for supplies and despised being around so many people. He was an overly-cautious, vigilant man and liked to keep his eyes trained on as many people as he could, but with so many out it was virtually impossible. This set him on edge and he wanted to return to the seclusion of his quarters sooner rather than later.</p><p>Hawke could sense the rising prickliness radiating off of Fenris and wheeled around to face him. His mouth opened to say something, but his eyes settled on the curious package Fenris gripped in his hand, and a different, snarkier, sentence fell from his lips instead.</p><p>“Nice wicker basket.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading, feel free to leave comments and critiques! </p><p>Already working on chapter 3 ٩(˘◡˘)۶</p>
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